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However, I was delighted to leave Simla. Better the jungle a thousand times." "Yes; Simla's rather a rotten place, I believe," remarked the subaltern meditatively. "Too many brass hats and women. They're the curse of India, each of them. And I'm sure the women do the most harm."
At the close of one effort Dora threw herself back with a deep, tumultuous sigh. 'The poverty of this little wretched resort ties up one's tongue! she cried. 'It is the bottom of the cup; here one gets the very dregs of Simla's commonplace. Let us climb out of it. I thought for a moment that Ronald had been too much for her nerves coming down, and offered to change saddles, but she would not.
Let's hear the details. BLAYNE. She's a girl daughter of a Colonel Somebody. DOONE. Simla's stiff with Colonels' daughters. Be more explicit. BLAYNE. Wait a shake. What was her name? Three something. Three CURTISS. Stars, perhaps. Gaddy knows that brand. BLAYNE. Threegan Minnie Threegan. MACKESY. Threegan! Isn't she a little bit of a girl with red hair? BLAYNE. 'Bout that from what Markyn said.
Heatherlegh's house shortly after midnight. His attempts towards my cure commenced almost immediately, and for a week I never left his sight. Many a time in the course of that week did I bless the good fortune which had thrown me in contact with Simla's best and kindest doctor. Day by day my spirits grew lighter and more equable.
Heatherlegh's house shortly after midnight. His attempts toward my cure commenced almost immediately, and for a week I never left his sight. Many a time in the course of that week did I bless the good-fortune which had thrown me in contact with Simla's best and kindest doctor. Day by day my spirits grew lighter and more equable.
Heatherlegh's house shortly after midnight. His attempts toward my cure commenced almost immediately, and for a week I never left his sight. Many a time in the course of that week did I bless the good-fortune which had thrown me in contact with Simla's best and kindest doctor. Day by day my spirits grew lighter and more equable.
But the year's renewal, the familiar flutter of Simla's awakening, sharpened, rather, that new ache at her heart; the haunting, incredible thought that down there, in the stifling dusty plains, Lance Desmond lay dead in the springtime of his splendid manhood; dead of his own generous impulse to save Roy from hurt.
Pictures presented difficulties which I have hinted at in an earlier chapter, but I did not despair. I began by hauling old Lamb, puffing and blowing like a grampus, up to Amy Villa, filling him up all the way with denunciations of Simla's philistinism and suggestions that he alone redeemed it. It is a thing I am ashamed to think of, and it deserved its reward.
The little procession clanked and jingled along the hillside, always tending down, and broke upon the early grey melancholy with a forced and futile cheerfulness, too early, like everything else. As it passed the last of Simla's little gardens, spread like a pocket-handkerchief on the side of the hill, the lady leaned forward and looked back as if she wished to impress the place upon her memory.
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